Scraps
by scatteredPhilosopher
Summary: My drabbles, about anything and everything. Beware rogue ships, sadstuck that isn't really sad, and the T rating for cursing. But seriously, if you've read Homestuck that'll be fine.
1. Revolution)(Rebellion

Just a small troll.

There was nothing special about him- his horns were pathectically small, his face unremarkable, his personality peaceful. He didn't even have a sign. He'd be dead in an instant.

Even so, this pitiable, lowly, mutant troll had an air of power about him. A whisper of destiny.

He took it in stride that he was the odd one out.

He stood in pride in the face of foes.

He gathered a ragtag gang of oddities and loners, and he was damn proud.

Because no matter who he was as a wriggler, no matter how he grew up, despite his blood color, he was prepared to take on the world.

And he did.


	2. Mother

Your name is John Egbert. Though it was sixteen years ago you were give life, it was three years ago you were given a name. And after that, your life fell apart. But you've won the game now, and put the pieces back together.

The trolls and the humans walked onto the planet they had created and called it Alterth. Dead alpha players found themselves resurrected. Sprites became more than just a sprite- and, in the case of Jadesprite, alive once more. Most of the guardians, however, did not come back. Jade had found Becquerel, and you yourself had found your father-turned-half-brother, but the rest of the players found no guardian or lusus waiting for them.

The players scattered, attempting to live life to the fullest. The human and troll races began to come to life, and soon the planet was lively.

However, all grow old.

The trolls died, one at a time. You remember saying good-bye to Nepeta as she slipped away, and how Equius could not live afterward. But that is another story, and one you simply do not wish to remember. Not now.

On your new planet, you became known as a pianist who traveled far and wide, playing songs that became widely known and loved. Once, as an eighty-year-old man, you walked onstage at a concert and said it would be your last. You remember the shock on the audience's faces, the horror and sorrow playing out in their eyes. You told them you couldn't just leave this beloved life without playing them one more song. You told them it was a tribute to long dead friends, ones that you hadn't seen in ages. You told them it was a tribute to a long gone grandmother, who was never your grandmother at all, but in fact your mother and later, more like your sister. The song, you called it Mother.

You sat down at the piano, and you played.

The soft melody, though simple, reflected the mournful days you've spent, remembering all the tragedy you went through. But, at the same time, it played a hopeful song, to tell them all that he had seen a light that only shines when you're in your darkest hour.

You smiled, a bit bitterly but only remembering it all. You felt a tear stream down your face, but you ignored it. It was then that you noticed the crowd humming along to the tune, a few improvising words on the spot.

You finished with a chord, and the audience sat speechless. By now, you felt the tears falling faster than you had thought they would.

You stood, and the crowd could not even clap. Their usual applause was not flowing through them. No, they sat waiting.

You decided to tell them something.

"Go tell the knights, the knights of time and mind and blood. Go tell the witches, the witches of space and time and life. Go tell the seers, the seers of light and blood and mind. Go tell the maids, the maids of life and space and time. Go tell the pages, the pages of hope and void and breath. Go tell the princes, the princes of heart and rage and hope. Go tell the rogues, the rogues of void and breath and heart. Go tell your bards, your sylphs, your heirs, your thieves, your mages. Tell them their heir of breath is dead."

And with that, the applause began. The audience was ablaze with cheer and shouts and true love, and you wiped your eyes. A shout came from the audience- "WE'LL NEVER FORGET, JOHN!"- and you found yourself sobbing.

"Thank you!" you call. "Thank you for everything. You people who never knew me personally, and those that spent too much time with me. I love you all... thank you."

Black creeps into your eyesight, and you will yourself to die standing.


	3. April Thirteenth Two Thousand Twelve

"Happy birthday, John!"

A pair of radiation green eyes are the first thing John sees when he wakes up on the morning of April 13th, 2012. He's turning sixteen, and he and his friends will finally finish the game they started.

John sits up, blurrily. He grabs his glasses and shoves them on his face. He sees his sister, Jade Harley, with her black Witch garb clean as ever and pair of white dog ears twitching excitedly.

Yeah... long story.

"Hey, Jade," John croaks. "What's for breakfast?"

"Cake," Jade replies. "'The same recipes his father used three years ago', she said."

John groans. "You have _got _to be kidding me."

Jade laughs nervously. "I'm not."

"Oh, boy" is all John can say before he's swept out of his bed by a bright orange feathery asshole.

"Dave sprite!" John says indignantly. "Dave sprite, put me down!"

"Nope," the sprite replies, cool as ever. "I was paid to carry you to breakfast. Ironically."

"Who paid you?" John's practically yelling as he struggles, and Davesprite's being purposefully annoying by going the long way.

"Nobody." Davesprite laughs, then drops John, who manages to catch himself with the Windy Thing before he hits the floor. John's scowling now.

"Dude. Not a good wake-up call," John growls before he stalks off to the kitchen himself.

He walks into the kitchen. A blue, ghostly, half-harlequin-half-grandmother is standing by a load of cakes, furiously making another. John relaxes when he sees her, though is a little put off by all the baked goods.

Another ghostly figure, this time a pink cat with tentacles and a dress meows when he sees John, happy. John's always enjoyed the presence of the cat- it made him feel a little closer to Rose and Dave, who were far away. Davesprite, on the other hand, merely irritated John.

"Hey Nanna, hey Jaspers," he greets the two figures.

The blue grandmother, presumably Nanna, hugs John. "Happy birthday, sweetie," she tells him, with a laugh that sounds suspiciously like "HOO HOO HOO!"

John smiles. "Thanks," he whispers.

Jade walks into the kitchen. Under normal circumstances, John figures, she probably would have used her First-Guardian-and-Space powers to just teleport in, but she must be giving all she can to getting the ship to the Post Scratch session. B2, they call it.

Jaspers, presumably the cat, hisses at the arrival of the Witch. She barks, but John hurriedly hushes her and forces her down into a chair. He shoves a piece of cake into her mouth to make her be quiet.

Davesprite saunters into the room, as best a saunter as a sprite can. He's looking pretty excited, as best he can for being a sprite prototyped with an alternate timeline Dave.

"Man!" he says, taking a swig of apple juice. "I'm going to see Bro today, I haven't seen him since I fought with him against Jack and he died."

Jade grimaces. "Don't talk about that stuff today! Please?" she asks her once-boyfriend.

"Fine," he mutters and tucks into whatever was put onto the nearest plate.

"Hey!" John cries. "That's mine!" The sprite had eaten everything on John's plate.

Davesprite shrugs and walks out, with the plate, still eating.

"DAVE SPRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITE!" John shrieks. He's just so DONE with that feathery asshole. Jade practically has to tackle John to make him not murder the dude.

"Not today, John," she tells him softly. He settles down, still fuming but is now able to eat his food without flipping out.

"Today, John..." she whispers, just barely enough that John can hear her, "Today is going to be a very long day."

* * *

**I wrote this back on 4/13. I figured I may as well post it now.**


End file.
